


Starving

by Sera_Clay



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sera_Clay/pseuds/Sera_Clay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzington, hurt/comfort, romance, extended PWP. Follows Anslow Garrick (No. 16) but goes AU fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starving

"You can't possibly be serious, Harold?!"

Harold Cooper smiles happily at the increasingly agitated Raymond Reddington. He may not have the kind of money, power, or influence in high places as his old friend the career criminal, but he does think he knows what Red fears most.

"Never mind that it violates our agreement, you can't do that to her."

"Agent Keen volunteered."

They stare at each other across Cooper's desk, which is stacked with paper; case reports, dispatches, research, personnel files.

Red's mouth is pinched, his gaze poisonous.

"You threatened her. Why?"

Harold Cooper is having the best day he's had since Anslo Garrick killed the men and women under his command.

"We need that information, and I personally think Agent Keen is our best chance to get you to talk."

Red gives Cooper a disdainful look as the deputy director holds out a pair of handcuffs.

"And Red?"

The Concierge of Crime is looking down, rolling up his shirt sleeves in preparation for being handcuffed. He looks up to meet Cooper's gloating expression.

"I didn't threaten her. I threatened you."

***

"You're half my size, Lizzie."

They stand shoulder to shoulder in baggy orange jumpsuits, legs shackled together, as the second elevator descends.

"You have to tell us who hired him, Red. We can't protect you - we can't even protect ourselves, if you keep us in the dark like this."

Red shakes his head. This plan is brave and misguided and it's going to end so badly. It has Lizzie written all over it.

"Ressler almost died!"

Red looks down at her, the short dark wisps of hair framing her face, the earnest expression in her big blue eyes.

"You could die, Lizzie. Starvation isn't predictable."

He wets his lips.

"This plan is futile. I'm not going to tell you, or the FBI, but most especially not you."

She just looks more determined. 

***

A group of muscular, heavily armed guards march them through a series of metal gates, down a narrow cement hall. Red and Lizzie shuffle along in unison.

They're taking no chances that Red will change his mind.

The guards finally stop and unlock a solid metal door, ten feet high. A metal ladder is welded to it, the rungs stopping short of the peephole near the top.

The cell is as basic as the box. A wide metal shelf for a bed. A molded sink/toilet combination.

No opening for food. He and Lizzie won't be eating.

They remove the cuffs from Lizzie's wrists, unchain her legs.

"Your clothing please, Agent Keen."

What?!?

Liz undresses, hands her orange jumpsuit to the guard. He hands her a key. Red keeps his eyes on the ground.

"Now his."

Lizzie's small strong fingers unlock the handcuffs, leave them dangling from his right wrist. She unsnaps the front of Red's jumpsuit. Squats to unlock the shackles.

"Bet you wish it was me in here, not this fat old man, huh?"

Red up and looks over her shoulder at the sneering guard behind her. Memorizes his face.

The man actually blanches.

Good.

When this is over, there will be no hole deep enough to hide him, save the grave.

Liz stands and guides the fabric of his jumpsuit over Red's shoulders and down his arms, squats again to help him step out of the legs. Bundles up the orange fabric and hands it to the guards.

"Now the cuffs."

Liz reaches out and holds Red's cuffed right hand, locks the other handcuff on her own left wrist. He bends his elbow slightly, compensating for the difference in their heights. Her fingers are cold, although it's not cold in the cell.

"I'm ready," she says.

Red doesn't say anything. 

The guards back out of the cell and the door slams shut. For a moment there's the blessed relief of darkness, then a pale fluorescent glow illuminates the scene.

***  
Red closes his eyes, stands naked beside Lizzie, marshals his arguments once again.

"I'm not going to tell you, Lizzie. So you may as well call this off right now."

With anyone else, he'd resort to a cold silence, but this is Lizzie.

"Can you even contact them, from in here?" he asks.

"No," she admits, giving his hand a little squeeze as if to reassure him. "They're just going to check in once a day." 

Standing so close, he can feel her weight shift as she looks up at the peephole near the top of the door.

"They're going to be carrying you out on a stretcher in less than three weeks, Lizzie. Hopefully not in a coma."

Her voice is quiet, almost pensive.

"I had to try, Red."

There's something she's not saying.

Red opens his eyes and looks over at Liz, keeping his eyes on her face. Her cheeks are bright with embarrassment, but she looks if anything even more determined.

"Tell me."

"You don't want to know what they were willing to do to you, Red." She swallows, gives him the barest hint of a smile. "This at least gives them time to calm down. To maybe find whoever hired Garrick."

Red has lost count of how many men and women have died in his employ. He's paid them to protect him, paid them well. He can't fathom how, why, Lizzie has stepped into the ongoing line of fire. 

"Dear god, you're trying to protect me?!?"

His voice actually cracks.

Liz lets go of his hand, the handcuffs rattling, unexpectedly steps to face him. Taken aback, Red catches a glimpse of her small, perfect breasts before she buries her face in his chest. Throws her arms around him. Curves her body against him, ignores the evidence of his immediate, unstoppable arousal.

"I'm sorry for what he said," she whispers, her hot breath tickling his chest hair.

That guard. 

Red wraps his arms around Liz to hold her in return. Presses his lips down into her hair.

"There's nothing anyone can say, anyone can do to me, that can hurt me as much you suffering, Lizzie." He gives her a little squeeze, feels her hug him back. She's a small woman, but she fits so perfectly in his arms. "Please, Lizzie, please end this."

***

"We need to drink plenty of water."

Red's voice is steady with an absolutely heroic effort. They can't just stand here hugging each other forever. Lizzie seems to be breathing just when he breathes, as if she's trying to stay as close to him as possible.

He'd expect any prolonged confinement with an attractive naked woman would arouse him, especially considering how long it's been for him, but this is Lizzie.

Just her smile, the touch of her shining eyes on him is enough to make him ache.

She's pressing her entire body against him.

If he holds a little tighter, lifts her up just a little, he could easily ...

"Water?"

She looks over at the small sink. Steps back as he releases her.

They quickly discover that it takes three hands to drink, one to hold the faucet, two more to collect water from the low metal spigot. They feed each other cold handfuls, the drinker holding the tap on.

It's something to do.

"Do you want to sit down?" asks Liz.

"Of course," says Red. What is there to say?

"Thanks. My feet are sore from walking all the way down here barefoot."

"There was no reason not to allow us shoes," Red agrees somewhat randomly. "Or at least slippers."

He has quite a collection of slippers. They match his robes.

Liz holds his hand again as they sit down together on the edge of the metal bench, his muscular, hairy thigh pressed to her smooth, youthful skin. His body is in complete rebellion.

This is ridiculous. He can't spend three hours like this, let alone three weeks.

"Elizabeth, I ..."

Red pauses, looks down at his lap, past the pale curve of his belly. This is so much more difficult than it should be.

"It's a normal physiological reaction," says Liz in her best 'listen to me profile' voice. "Go ahead. Don't mind me."

He gives a short, bitter laugh at that. If it weren't for her, he wouldn't be here. Wouldn't be in this ridiculous, humiliating condition. Fat old man indeed.

"Or I can help you with it, if you want."

She did not just say that. His mind is playing tricks on him. There's LSD in the water.

Liz is staring straight ahead, and her whole face is suffused with color now. That was quite a pause, wasn't it?

Oh god. She thinks he's rejecting her.

"Lizzie ..." Red starts, stops, tries to get his voice under control. She clutches his hand tight.

"Oh, Lizzie, yes, please."

******

Red never thought it would be like this.

He wanted to woo her with dinner in Paris, dancing to follow, drinks after midnight in a smoky little bar where the jazz throbs with sorrow and desire. He looks wonderful in a tux.

Instead, Liz is on her bare knees on the cold cement, her mouth doing delicious, wicked, perfectly timed things to him. His fingers are threaded through her hair, and she's bringing him inexorably closer and closer to the edge.

He's never even kissed her.

Red clenches his teeth, spreads his legs a little wider as her mouth slows.

Liz runs her nails suddenly up the top of his thighs, alternates them with her tongue. It's as if she's somehow plugged directly into his nervous system.

Red convulses silently, endlessly, the exquisite little compressions as she swallows almost unbearable.  
***

She sits beside him once again, takes his hand. Her fingers tremble.

"That was, that was, extraordinary, Lizzie."

He's usually so glib, but Red doesn't have any words for this moment. He wants to sleep, he wants to kiss her, he wants to pretend it never happened. Whatever she wants to do.

He wants the recovery time of a man her age, so they can do this again and again.

Her voice is so small that even sitting side by side, he almost can't hear her when she finally speaks.

"You know how we took turns with the water?"

Oh, yes, he does remember that. It took all his concentration just to drink, not to lick her slender fingers.

"Red?"

He tilts his head as she meets his eyes.

"Yes?"

Liz squeezes his hand. He feels her thigh pressing against his, feels her settle against him, looks down to see her slowly spreading her legs, sliding forward just a little toward the edge of the bench. Giving him every opportunity to refuse. Who can ever have been so ungenerous?

"Yes. With pleasure."

Red twines their fingers together, moves carefully to his knees.

She trembles as he begins. 

"Oh Lizzie. You're the most beautiful woman in the world."

Red looks up at Lizzie's face, puts his mouth on her again. She's watching him with love and desire, and something a little darker, too. Something that tells him without words that she's imagined him on his knees before.

He stays there for a very long time.

Then he climbs stiffly back to his feet and Liz holds out her arms, lying back utterly lax and spent, and guides him down to sleep entwined with her on the hard metal bench.

***  
Red wakes once, with Lizzie tugging his arm.

Right. Handcuffs.

Was that all just a dream?

No, his knees are painfully sore and Liz is looking down at him blearily. Her hair is sticking up wildly all over her head. 

"Red, I need to pee."

"Right."

They take turns, wash their hands, drink more water.

He nips at her fingers after he drinks, chuckles when she squeaks.

His stomach rumbles, loudly.

"Are you hungry, Red?"

"Yes, but I don't imagine discussing it will help. You?"

She shakes her head.

"No, not yet."

They return to the metal bench, stand there looking down at it.

"It's not much of a bed," he comments. "But at least it's wide enough for two."

With a little experimenting, they find that Red can take Liz in his arms, then turn her so he's cuddled against her back, their clasped, handcuffed hands raised, their arms folded together.

They lie entwined once more.

"This feels so good," Liz murmurs. "You're so warm."

What's wrong with him? He still hasn't kissed her. His breath is not going to get any better, any time soon.

Eventually, they both sleep.

***

Red is asleep, dreaming of the open ocean, then all at once he's awake. Or maybe he's still dreaming.

Liz has her hand on him, she's reaching down between her legs, positioning him.

"Good morning, Lizzie." Red murmurs into her ear. He shifts his hips, obliging her. Oh yes, just there. She's wonderfully ready for him.

"Red. You feel so good."

Red closes his eyes, moves slowly, concentrating. Twice he comes close, trembles as she touches herself harder, barely manages to wait for her.

Liz makes the most lovely, happy little sounds. There's a note of surprise in them, as if she's discovered something she didn't expect. 

He bends his knees and curls closer to her, wishing he can see her face. She seems to be drifting back into sleep.

Maybe he's been in here for weeks, and this is some fever dream of his starving body?

No. He desperately needs the toilet, but he can't bring himself to wake her. He's painfully sore from shoulder to hip from lying on the hard metal bench, his mouth is dry, his jaw and neck itch. Oh god, his back itches too, and his feet are cold.

Red catalogs his many discomforts with inner amusement.

Lizzie sleeping in his arms, the bliss of complete satisfaction after months of self-denial, and now he also wants coffee, and a hot towel on his face before shaving, a pile of newspapers begging to be read, and an almond croissant.

He kisses the dark tumble of Lizzie's hair. It still smells faintly of her shampoo, a clean neutral scent, like soap.

He'll settle for lying here now. Paris can wait.

***

When Liz finally awakens, Red is almost frantic for relief. He goes first, waits as Lizzie makes a face once again at the lack of toilet paper. Washes her hands very, very thoroughly.

This is going to get worse before it gets better.

He'll manage, he's traveled through many places where simple amenities are unavailable, but Lizzie?

She still hasn't met his eyes, not once, since they woke. 

"Lizzie."

Red squeezes her hand, guides her to sit beside him. Lifts his left hand to turn her face towards him.

"Lizzie, have you ever been in prison before?"

It's a rhetorical question, but she answers just the same.

"No, just jail. Not overnight."

Well. How did he not already know that? Red waits, but that appears to be all she's going to say.

He gently strokes the line of her cheekbone, then drops his hand to cover their clasped hands. Liz puts her other hand on top of his.

She's listening.

"When one lacks freedom, solitude, privacy, it's absolutely pointless to want them."

He swallows, lowers his voice a notch.

"The intimacy we've already experienced, the way you and I will come to know each others' most personal habits, smells..."

He pauses because Liz has looked down, her eyes wet.

"Lizzie. Look at me."

She looks over again.

"Know that we are not our bodies, Lizzie. And yet here, in this place, I can only advise you to treat your own body, mine, as the world. Don't allow anything about either of us to shame or disgust you. I certainly don't intend to."

Her mouth is open just a little, the hectic color fading from her cheeks.

"And no, I won't tell you who hired Garrick."

She grins at that. How he loves to make her smile.

"But I will tell you some jokes."

Red tells her jokes until she's laughing so hard they have to parade together over to the toilet once again.

***

Red recommends frequent naps as a strategy for enduring captivity.

For the first few days, it feels like they make love more than they sleep.

The handcuffs make certain positions impossible, which is just as well. They're both skirting the edge of soreness, and Lizzie has started to experiment with biting him. Not hard, but very judiciously.

Red likes a little pain, sometimes. Very occasionally, he likes a lot.

Liz doesn't like pain, but his hands can get rougher, firmer, his mouth more demanding if she's teasing him. There's something in her that wants him needy, splayed open for her, begging.

Red doles himself out carefully, feels his body weaken with every passing day without food.

***

"I'm dizzy, Red."

"With overwhelming lust, perhaps?" His tone is jocular as he reaches for her pulse.

"Maybe more water?"

She's starting to feel the effects of going without food for so long. Her eyes are already a little sunken, dark smudges around them. Her trim stomach is going concave, ridges of muscle becoming visible as what little body fat she has melts away.

Red's memory insists on serving up all the best meals he's ever eaten all over the world, in vivid color. His excellent memory has been the basis of his success for more than twenty years, the cause of all his wealth, but now it's just a torment.

***

"We need to save our strength" says Red, lying on his back and looking up at Lizzie as she kneels over him. Her dark hair is stringy and her rounded cheeks are hollow. She looks like an addict.

She puts her mouth on him and Red groans softly. He's usually so silent, but she's begged him to make noise, and he's trying.

She pauses, looks up at him.

"Tell me," she orders him. It's a familiar game by now.

"No. Never."

She licks delicately at him.

"Tell me."

Oh god. She can keep this up for hours.

***  
They're both finding it hard to move much, now.

"Water."

They take turns forcing each other to awaken, coax each other to drink.

"Tomato soup, with garlic croutons and a swirl of cream."

Red drinks from her hands, trying to focus his sluggish mind. The edges of her fingernails are dark with filth. They've both abandoned cleanliness as not worth the effort.

No repeats. She's started the game this time, chosen soup.

"Gazpacho in an iced glass. You lick the ice and it tastes like lime."

Liz drinks, sways on her feet, leans against him for support.

"Your turn" he orders her. He needs more water than she does, he needs to stay conscious. He can drag or carry her to the sink if he has to.

She's too weak to move him, now.

That was a good day, the second day. Almost wrestling, trying not to fall off the metal bench despite their urgency. The first time he kissed her.

"Chicken with egg noodles, big, wide, soft noodles."

Red drinks again, licks her cupped palms. Holds his hands under the spigot.

"No more, Red," she protests, softly.

"One more for me, then."

He presses down on the faucet.

"Clam chowder, little bites of chewy clams," she whispers.

She's chosen that before, but he doesn't say anything, just helps her back to the metal bench. Red lies down first, cradles her against him as best he can.

Her small body is so light and bony now that when she sleeps this way on him, the pressure of her weight is comforting. Even if it does sometimes make it hard for him to breathe.

This needs to end soon. Red looks up at the small window, still stubbornly closed.

They won't let her die.

He just needs to stay awake.

***

Finally, cover of the window moves. 

"If you wait until tomorrow, you may need a body bag," Red calls up to the hidden observers. 

The window slams shut. Liz hasn't moved from her position in hours, she's still slumped limply against his chest. He debates trying to drag her to the water, decides to wait. It seems like forever before the metal door opens with a creak.

A guard unlocks the handcuffs, then a pair of medics load Liz carefully onto a stretcher, start an IV, carry her away.

Red sits up with an effort, lifts his wrist in entreaty, the cuff dangling.

The guard slams the door hard and leaves him alone.

He staggers to the sink, gathers water in one hand while holding the faucet with the other. It takes a long time to get enough to drink with only one hand. The room seems much larger without Liz. He feels her absence like an amputation.

Red almost blacks out on his way back to the metal shelf. He curls on his side facing the wall. His head hurts.

Liz has to be fine. She was still breathing when they took her.

Red puts his hands over his face, and finally gives himself permission to weep, but his eyes are dry and tearless. 

He's unconscious by the time they come back for him.

***

Red and Liz are sitting in Harold Cooper's office, both of them in loose gray sweats with the FBI logo, their hair damp. Still attached to matching IV drips. She's not looking at him. She's just staring at her boss. Stroking her scar.

"We've captured the last of Garrick's men, the so-called Wild Bunch," Cooper informs them. "One of them will tell us who hired him. Or lead us to the information we need."

Red smiles a faint, supercilious smile. The one that he knows Harold Cooper hates.

"Best of luck with that."

Cooper leans across the desk, glares at Liz, then at Red.

Time for a distraction.

"I have another blacklister for you," Red announces. "A Canadian, of all things, with an unfortunate obsession with trains. But first, I need to spend a little time in Italy." He tilts his head, narrows his eyes at the deputy director. "I'll need Agent Keen."

"Why Italy?" asks Cooper.

"Because we need to gain back some weight," says Red, perfectly deadpan. 

He looks over at Liz, and wonder of wonders, she's smiling back at him.

"I still have almost a week of vacation left," begins Liz, still holding Red's gaze.

"This will take more than a week," says Red. "But no worries, Harold. My blacklister's next attack is more than a month away."

"Two weeks," says Harold Cooper in a bitter voice. "No more."

Red and Liz both nod.

"And then right back to work, both of you."

Red isn't listening to him anymore. 

***

The Italian sun is bright overhead, in a perfect, cloudless blue sky.

Red tips his hat back, examines the square, women in black with market baskets, slender young men leaning against their scooters. Two little boys with a soccer ball, running back and forth on the ancient cobbles.

The table between them is spread with enough food for four.

"Red, I'm so hungry, and I can barely eat a bite of each dish."

Liz is wearing a sleeveless cream linen dress, a wide straw hat, the strappiest, sexiest little shoes he could find.

"Start with the truffle risotto," he advises her, scanning the array of dishes. He's hungry too, but he'll wait for her to serve herself first. "Or the truffle and eggs."

"Oh, this all looks so good."

Liz is placing tiny portions of each dish on her plate, trying to make sure they don't touch each other. Red watches, amused. The sauces will run together, for all her care.

"Go on, Red. You must be as hungry as I am."

Their table is littered with glasses. He's ordered sparkling water, still water, prosecco, both white and red wine. Such a pleasant luxury, drinking from glasses.

He lifts a glass to her in toast. Gives her a deliberately sultry look, as if to remind her of the extent of his morning exertions on her behalf.

"More, perhaps."

Her eyes laugh at him as she chews her first bite, then roll back in evident delight.

"Oh, Red, this is so good."

"Indeed, it is."


End file.
